What My Heart Wants to Say
by words-are-my-weakness
Summary: Oneshot about Rachel's feelings towards Lindsay from the moment she meets her to their parting in the police station.


I'd barely known this girl a month, but still I felt like she was my own child. Although I had no children of my own, I felt this strong maternal pull towards her. I knew from the moment she and her younger sister walked into the playground arguing, that something wasn't right, and when the police told the girls their father was dead, murdered, that there was more to this girl than meets the eye. She was a girl of many secrets, a dark past, but I knew I could get her to trust me, to open up to me. I had to help her, I didn't know what I felt or why, but leaving her, passing her on to another teacher was not an option.

However, when Lindsay James sat on the grass after school, I could see the pain, the hurt, the fear in her eyes.

"Tell me" I whispered softly, not expecting the reply I got.

"It wasn't just mum he was hurting, it was me too" Lindsay said, tears welling up in her eyes. It felt as though I had been hit by a train. I blinked my tears back and tried to breathe through the rising sick feeling. All I wanted to do right at this moment was to reach out and hold her close, make her feel safe, let her know she wasn't alone. But I had to remain professional; I was still Lindsay's teacher. As I told her it was all going to be okay and that it wasn't her fault, Lindsay only cried harder. My reassurance wasn't of any comfort to the girl now so I reached out and placed my hand on top of hers. I watched her soften as my hand touched hers. I gently placed my other hand around the girl's and gave it a squeeze, more for my own benefit than hers.

I drove Lindsay home and went off to meet Chris at the pub, the reality of girl's revelation not quite sinking in. She needed me now and I had to be strong for her, but I had no idea how.

After informing the designated officer of what Lindsay had confessed to me, I accompanied her to a medical examination. It was hell. As if she hadn't been through enough already. When the nurse called Lindsay in she wouldn't go, she sat beside me, shaking. I took hold of her hand and led her into the room, not letting her go until the nurse had finished. As she lay on the bed, her hand still in mine, I stroked her hair away from her eyes, wiped the tears from her face and distracted her from what the professions were doing. She was adament that she didn't want counselling, and who could blame her, sitting in front of someone she didn't know and have to tell them how her father abused her for many years, but I still had to inform her of the options to help her through it all. In the interview, the solicitor and officers went over and over each detail of the torture she had to endure on a daily basis and I could see a little part of Lindsay dying with each question. I kept hokd of her hand throughout, giving it a squeeze with every difficult question, every painful answer. She didn't believe me that it would be alright in the end, and at points, I didn't even believe it myself, but it would be, eventually.

The next week or two I spent a lot of time with Lindsay, in my office, giving her lifts to and from school, just being there for her leading up to the court case. I had begun to blame myself, for not realising sooner what she had been through, what she was still going through, for not being approachable, she must have felt like she couldn't talk to me, however, that wasn't going to get either of us anywhere.

The day of the court case arrived and I could tell Lindsay was terrified as she waited by my car in the playground. She was playing it down, saying she was a bit nervous, but I could tell she was more nervous than she was letting on. When Lindsay had agreed to testify she asked me to be there with her, I couldn't say no; finally she was letting me in, I couldn't let her go through that all on her own, she had no one else now to look after her, and her little sister Emily.

The clerk of court called Lindsay's name and the fear washed over her once again. I took her hands and reassured her before she followed the man inside to give her evidence. Dread, a rising sick feeling, which was now too familiar and the urge to run up and hug her was coming over me again too. She shouldn't have to go through any of this, it was just all wrong.

Watching this fragile, young girl fall to pieces as she relived every moment of the past few years was torture for me, mainly because there was nothing I could do now. Her crying became uncontrollable and she ran from the room in a state. Harsh words were exchanged with her aunts and uncles which angred me greatly; Lindsay needed them now, how could they not be there for her now, her dad was dead and her mother on trial for murder, she had no one. Then Ros and Michaela emerged from the public gallery, but I didn't have the time or the energy to be angry with them now, I needed to see Lindsay. I sent the girls back to school and went off to find her.

I could never have anticipated what was coming next, Lindsay's first revelation knocked me for six but words could not express how I felt now. It was Lindsay that killed her father and not her mother. Then Lindsay had asked me what to do. How could I ever make that decision? If she told the truth she would go to prison and that would destroy her, as if she hadn't been punished enough...and I would lose her. But I knew it would eat her up and ruin her life is she kept it to herself any longer.

I sat in the interview room back at the station with Lindsay whilst she was formally charged with murder. A policewoman handcuffed her, read her her rights and took her down to the cells. For the last time I took her small, shaking hands in my own and squeezed them tightly, lovingly. And then they took her away. She looked so small and broken walking down the corridor, an officer chained to her either side, but she felt better for telling the truth. She looked back at me and mouthed 'thank you'

That finished me, I left the building in so much inner pain that I couldn't even cry, I couldn't talk or think of anything but Lindsay being taken away. She wasn't my child but I felt as though I had lost my own daughter. But now I had to go back to school and sort out Max's mess like nothing had happened, I had to be strong, but didn't know how.

Getting home that night couldn't have come sooner, I was barely holding it together and my mask was starting to slip. I pushed the front door closed behind me and went straight up to my room. I curled in a foetal ball on my bed, coat and shoes still on and I cried, I sobbed until I fell asleep, whispering three words as I closed my eyes 'Night night Lindsay'


End file.
